


standing here searching for a monster

by UncommonCourtesies



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb Widogast Angst, Caleb is not in the right state of mind to visit Astrid!!!, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I wrote this immediately after the episode aired because I had Feelings, Past Astrid/Caleb Widogast, Post episode 88, and here’s why, brief descriptions of torture, our boy has trauma to work through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UncommonCourtesies/pseuds/UncommonCourtesies
Summary: You know me well enough, Bren.Petrifying, how easily that name is recognized by his head. How quickly he snaps to attention when his master calls for him. He is not Bren.Caleb stands outside Astrid’s door. He cannot get Trent‘s voice out of his head.
Relationships: Past Astrid/Caleb Widogast - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	standing here searching for a monster

Caleb doesn’t know why he still cares.

It’s mid afternoon, and he hasn’t been able to get the voice out of his head.

_Bren._

The sound of that syllable in that voice is too familiar. It falls from Trent’s lips so plainly, the same well rehearsed inflection, the same tongue dancing around each letter until it is 14 years earlier and he has just begun to hope.

_You know me well enough, Bren._

Petrifying, how easily that name is recognized by his head. How quickly he snaps to attention when his master calls for him. He is not Bren. Caleb’s fingers tear against his forearms. Not Bren. Not Bren.

Astrid will say it, of course. When he finally moves to the door and announces his presence. How will the name sound then, without the carefully packaged disease that Trent carries? Will it be the same as before?

_You’re incredible, Bren._

He can still feel her lips, her breath against his neck. 

And her hands on his hips, fingers gripping tightly to his skin, red marks left against the paper white flesh.

_One last time, Bren._

And her hands are so cold and Trent’s hands are so cold and they are on on him now, fastening the straps to the arms of the chair.

Caleb doesn’t know why he is here. He doesn’t remember leaving his room, walking out of the dwelling. He does not remember the walk over, the turns down back alleys to save time, the boarded up storefronts, wreckage from the invasion. 

He remembers sitting in his chair, staring over the city.

He remembers seeing the outline of the Solstryce. 

And now he is at her door.

She has probably changed. He knows this.

He remembers the scourger in the prison, who’s heart had been so thoroughly beaten out of her. And still, he faltered when he saw the short hair behind the prison bars.

Over a decade apart. A decade where she, familial blood still staining her fingers, continued to exist. Without remorse. Without question.

It sickens him to remember the screams of those Trent gave to him, the initial cut of a knife sinking into flesh. The air in the room is thick, his hands coated with sweat. How easily he has become the executioner—still torn open, he holds the blade now. Oh, how they scream. They scream and beg and plead.

_Remember, Bren. They deserve this._

It was always clear the exact moment they met Bren’s eyes. He watches the hope drain from theirs as they see him for the monster he is. 

There will be no mercy. 

Over a decade. How many tortured faces she must have looked into and never once faltered. She probably still laughs, Caleb knows, like he used to. Laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs. How deeply broken she must be. 

And how broken _he_ must be, he laughs, to be standing here searching for a monster, still seeing her for what she was before.

And how lovely she was before. 

_I love you, Bren._

They loved eachother. In their twisted and imperfect world, they had found something sacred. He held it close to his heart. With pride.

He had come from nothing, a family with a farm house and enough coin to get them through a day. And now he had a future.

Her.

Everything.

_He sees the flame run up the door and up the walls and envelop the room, then the cascade as the house erupts._

_He tastes the bitter smoke as panicked breaths draw it deeper into the lungs, choking as the sobs and screams are buried under the suffocating soot._

_He senses death as it approaches from the flying embers and coils around the ankles, watching as it makes its way upwards, fully aware as it snakes around their necks and hisses and laughs and then suddenly pulls-_

It was taken from him. Ripped from him. Destroyed. 

_Especially you, Bren._

Trent took that from him. Why would he take that from him? Why would the world take that from him?

Did _he_ do something wrong? Was it his fault?

The same questions, over and over again. He always knows the answers 

It was all his fault.

He never deserved her in the first place.

He doesn’t deserve anything at all.

The door begins to open.

_Bren._

It’s still repeating in his head. His name in Trent’s voice. The one that makes his stomach convulse, his fingers twitch. The voice that makes him want fire, need fire, have burn until there is nothing left to see it.

What will happen when she says it instead? 

_Hey, Caleb? Don't run. You can say you don’t believe in anything, and that’s fine… Believe in us just a little bit?_

_And I’m just gonna keep telling you that until you believe me...What you did was awful, truly terrible, despicable and unforgivable. Until you can forgive it._

He isn’t Bren. He isn’t Bren.

But he’s unsure. 

And he is scared that when she says his name, he will be back under the tree as the leaves turn orange, showing her the newest spell transcribed into his book, staring at the way her lips quirk up at the edges as she concentrates on his scrawled words, and the dimple that forms on her left check when she looks back at him, proud. 

He will be back with her and Wulf at dinner, laughing over some inconsequential thing, and her laugh is the prettiest sound he as ever heard and he is sure, he is certain, that her laugh must be the song of the stars and the moons, and how beautiful it sounds on the nights where it is only for him.

_There is rain falling outside, beating against the windows. Trent had told them not to trust, that the people they trusted would hurt them. But Bren has trusted. Bren had loved. And the world said no, said there will be no happy ending. There will never be a happy ending._

He wonders if he can still save her.

He knows she won’t let him.

She will turn him away.

She will laugh that he even tried.  
She will have forgotten him.

She will stick a dagger through his throat.

She will say his name, and he will be leaning into her shoulder, scared, upset, because he thought he could trust his parents, trust his home, but he heard them talking, and he knows what he has to do, and he wants to do it, and he is scared of that part of him, and he is so scared of the world, and now she is the only one he can trust, and _i promise I could never hurt you._

  
She will say Bren, and he will finally return. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written at 1AM so I hope it was legible and enjoyable.  
> Comments are welcomed and greatly appreciated. You can also feel free to yell at me in the comments. I don’t mind and I deserve it.


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